


Cheers Darlin'

by TeaGirrl



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Merlin, Angst, F/M, Heartbreak, Hurt Merlin, Love, M/M, Marriage, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-23
Updated: 2012-12-23
Packaged: 2017-11-22 03:22:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/605282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeaGirrl/pseuds/TeaGirrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin drinks away his sorrows the eve of Gwen's coronation and is dragged out of the dining hall by Arthur for inappropriate, anger-driven, drunken behaviour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cheers Darlin'

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the song "Cheers Darlin'" by Damien Rice.

Merlin empties his chalice of wine after yet another toast to the newly crowned Queen, letting the rich liquid numb his aching soul. He makes sure he swallows every last drop, before lazily wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve, the ground swaying gently beneath him. Their wedding bells are still ringing in his ears.  

The feast is going swimmingly; the knights are chatting and laughing loudly, toasting and giving speeches on a regular basis as an excuse to drain the contents of their chalices. Even the servants seem to be having a good time, their cheeks flushed from secretly helping themselves to some ale between servings. The King sits in the middle of this cacophony of joy and high spirits, his golden locks adorned with his crown, his shoulders framed by his red cape bearing the crest of his kingdom. He sips his drink in between fits of laughter, his eyes never ceasing to drift towards his Queen beside him, whose hand he is holding delicately in his.

Guinevere is practically glowing. Merlin can’t remember the last time he’s seen her smile so brightly. She looks stunning. And Merlin hates her for it.

He watches Arthur’s thumb trace circles on her knuckles reassuringly, lovingly. He sits up straighter when she is around. He radiates confidence and contentment. He looks every bit the king Merlin knows he is destined to become. And Merlin hates him for it.

He is leaning against the wall, clutching his chalice in his hand. He snatches a jug of wine from a passing servant and fills his chalice to the brim, taking a long swig. The alcohol was meant to be nothing but a shield; something to protect him from the knowledge that Arthur was now lost forever – his heart bound to someone else, but it had done nothing but intensify his anger and jealousy, making him agitated, unpredictable.

He watches the King and Queen through a thin veil of drunken haze that clouds his vision and makes seeing their touches hurt all the more. He watches Gwen lean closer, trying to catch Arthur’s words as he whispers in her ear, his lips ghosting over the shell of her ear. He watches Arthur’s rosy lips transform into a smirk and how Gwen blushes. It makes him sick to his stomach.

He’d put on a brave face during her coronation. He cared about Gwen. She was one of his closest friends. And yet he had found himself thinking that he would give anything to be the one to stand by Arthur’s side; the one to bring him comfort and pleasure; the one to tell him when he was acting like a prat; the one to swear his loyalty to him; the one to promise him forever. His then sober self had reasoned with his reckless desires. _They belong together. She makes him happy._

And now, in his drunken state, he couldn’t have given a flying fuck even if he’d tried. His anger and jealousy churns in his gut, a sense of desperation and loneliness seeping into his very bones. Arthur won’t need him anymore. Merlin won’t see him as often. He’ll have to let go of this ridiculous infatuation he has been harbouring for the past few years; an infatuation he’s managed to convince himself is love. Self-sacrificing, heart breaking, shitty love.

He notices his chalice is nearly empty, only enough dark liquid swirling at the bottom for one more toast.

And it is with envy and resentment that he clears his throat, calling attention to himself and his raised chalice. The room soon quietens, all eyes on Merlin, who smiles mischievously at the crowd. He turns to stare at Arthur, shutting Gwen out completely as he begins his toast; sharp words ready to be voiced at the tip of his tongue.

“A toast! To our king and his _fair_ Lady, whose common blood we hope will never taint the kingdom of Camelot!”

He knows he’s being an ass. He can see anger flare in Arthur’s eyes as he listens to Merlin insult his beloved. But that doesn’t stop the words from coming. Nothing can stop him now.

Merlin swallows a mouthful of wine before continuing.

“And to the king! For disregarding rank and all that is proper. If you can’t beat them, join them, eh, Arthur?” He winks suggestively at Arthur before tilting his head back to empty the contents of his chalice, but is interrupted by someone grabbing him by the collar and yanking him backwards, almost knocking him off his feet. The chalice falls to the floor with a clatter that echoes in the now silent room, full of spectators watching the king reprimand his servant.

He swears he can hear Arthur snarl as he pulls him upright, before dragging him out of the dining hall, his fingers digging into Merlin’s arm. Merlin simply staggers after him. He looks over his shoulder and glimpses Gwen’s look of surprise and… hurt. He’s already regretting this.

Arthur slams the large wooden doors behind them, the sound travelling down the empty halls, bouncing off the stone walls. Arthur continues to pull him along, not saying anything. He doesn’t even _look_ at Merlin, but Merlin can feel his rage pulsate off him.

They round a corner into a more secluded area of the castle, where the candlelight doesn’t reach the darkest corners and the chances of encountering someone are slim.

Arthur slams him up against the wall. Merlin’s head cracks painfully against the cold stone, making his head spin and spots of dark taint his vision briefly. Arthur presses his arm across Merlin’s shoulders and collarbone, holding him firmly against the wall, making it slightly harder to breathe. His face is a mere breath away from Merlin’s.

“What the _hell_ is wrong with you?” he growls.

Merlin can see fire burn in the irises of his eyes. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Arthur this mad before. It’s terrifying and exhilarating.

“How _dare_ you address Guinevere like that? In front of the court! She is your _Queen!_ ”

Arthur’s arm presses more and more firmly against Merlin’s chest with each word. Merlin tries to push him away, but it’s no use. Arthur is so close he can count the freckles across the bridge of his nose.

Merlin doesn’t say anything. He merely watches the raging fire in Arthur’s eyes dim slightly. Arthur pushes away from him, disgusted, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“I should have you banished…” he mutters.

“Banished?” Merlin repeats incredulously. “I say what everyone is thinking – how the great King of Camelot became ensnared by a simple servant – and you want to _banish_ me?”

Arthur’s low growl has been replaced by full-on shouting. “She is not just a servant! She is so much more than that! To hell with what people think!”

He doesn’t care anymore. Arthur had been so uncertain, so _scared_ of doing what he wanted, afraid of what others would think, how his people would view their king. His love for Guinevere has made him braver. She has made him happier. Merlin hadn’t let Arthur have that. And he hates himself for it.  

Merlin’s anger dissipates to nothing but sadness. Whatever courage had coursed through his veins in the dining hall, whatever recklessness had convinced him that speaking out of terms was a good idea, is gone. Merlin sags against the wall behind him, almost in defeat. It must have been this courage that had kept him upright.

Arthur sighs, his rage gone now. “She’s the most important person to me, Merlin. And I love her. With all my heart.” Arthur looks in direction of the dining hall, where his Queen is waiting for him. Merlin can’t help but notice how Arthur’s voice softens as he talks about his wife; the most important person in Arthur’s life. And Merlin can’t help but ask.  

“What about me, Arthur?”

Arthur turns to look at him, his brows furrowed in confusion. “What?”

“What am I?” he asks softly. He can’t look at Arthur, not when he’s asking such things. So he stares at his shoes. He can hear Arthur sigh and the rustle of his chainmail as he drags a hand down his face.

“Merlin, I…”

He’s struggling for the words, but Merlin is not going to help him. He wants Arthur to say something. _Anything._  

“I- I care about you, Merlin.”

He’s playing safe.

“That’s not what you said before,” Merlin challenges, his voice no longer soft and pleading. He dares to look at Arthur, and is a little taken aback by how dejected he looks. His mouth is drawn into a frown and there is a small crease of concern between his eyebrows. Arthur knows what Merlin is talking about. Merlin can see he remembers, and how much he regrets it.

“Merlin, that night was a-“

“Mistake?” Merlin finishes, pushing himself off the wall, stepping closer to Arthur. “So that’s what I am now? Your biggest mistake?” His voice cracks and Arthur swallows, hesitantly reaching out to steady him.

“You’re drunk,” he says, as if that is the only reason Merlin is acting the way he is.

“And?” Merlin scoffs.

“You’re not in your right mind.”

So that’s what he’s resorting to - a plea of insanity. It makes Merlin’s blood boil, colouring his cheeks and making his heart pound in his chest. Arthur’s is dismissing this as nothing but Merlin being unreasonable - making up stories, seeing things where there’s nothing. But Merlin knows he isn’t making this up. And so does Arthur.

“Should _you_ be questioning my sanity, _Sire_?” Merlin slurs, his voice purposefully mimicking the drawls he voiced that night; drawls brought on by Arthur’s skilful tongue.

Arthur pulls away at the scent of Merlin’s intoxicated breath.

“Stop it, Merlin,” he warns, fending off Merlin’s attempts to grab at his cape, not wanting to be any closer, not wishing to touch.

“Stop what?” Merlin asks, feigning innocence. He bites his lower lip, relishing in the way Arthur gaze is drawn down to his mouth. But then Arthur closes his eyes and shakes his head, as if wanting to erase his memories of the taste and feel of Merlin’s lips, and the spell is broken.

“Don’t do this to me, Merlin,” Arthur begs. He turns away from him and leans against the wall opposite Merlin, one hand braced against the stone, his head hanging between his slumped shoulders.

_Don’t do this to me._ As if _he_ is the one responsible for this pain they are both feeling. It wasn’t he who took the final step, who decided to let his guard down. He didn’t start this. He was just caught in the middle of it, and now Arthur wanted out. Arthur wanted to forget, push it aside like it meant nothing, when it meant more than nothing to Merlin. The words Arthur had whispered between grunts and moans had meant _everything_ to him.

“You said you loved me!”

He hadn’t meant to shout, but now it is too late. The words ring throughout the empty hall, reminding them both again and again of Arthur’s proclamation.

Arthur doesn’t move, but Merlin can see how he stiffens and stills, as if waiting for more.

But Merlin has nothing further to say.

Arthur eventually turns to look at him, unshed tears in his eyes. “I know,” he says, voice hoarse as he tries to cling to the mask of indifference he’s opted for ever since that night.  

“You made me fall in love with you,” Merlin says, needing to blame Arthur for the raw hopelessness and abandonment that threatens to overwhelm him. He can’t stop his own blue eyes from filling with tears.

“I know,” he repeats, his lower lip trembling ever so slightly.

Suddenly Merlin’s knees refuse to hold him upright and he slides to the ground, his back against the wall, the heels of his hands pressed against his closed lids, trying to keep the onslaught of tears at bay.

“I loved you,” he hisses, his voice thick with grief and disgust.

He can hear Arthur walk over to him, and he can sense his presence mere inches from him without needing to look. He can feel Arthur’s warmth and hear his breath.

Arthur clasps Merlin’s wrists gently and forces him to lower his hands, but Merlin’s eyes remain closed.

“Look at me, Merlin.”

Merlin gives his head a slight shake.

“Please,” Arthur whispers, his fingers drifting from Merlin’s wrists to wrap around his long fingers, much like how he had held Guinevere’s hand just a short while ago.

Merlin can’t help but look up at the feel of Arthur’s now tender touch.

“What do you want me to say?” Arthur asks, his eyes large and pleading.

Merlin doesn’t know what he wants to hear first. That Arthur still loves him, that he still means what he said, that he’s sorry. That it’s not too late. But Merlin doesn’t want to be the one to tell him what to say. He wants Arthur to say the right words of his own accord.

Realizing that Merlin doesn’t plan on answering, Arthur continues. “That you’ll always be important to me? That I don’t want to lose you? That I wish you could be happy for me?”

His eyes are still glistening with unshed tears; tears that finally spill over and slide down his soft cheek as he voices the last suggestion he has to offer.

“That a small part of me will always love you?”

Merlin takes a shaky breath. Even though Arthur has practically said the words aloud again, it still doesn’t feel like enough. Merlin wants so much more than a small part. He wants all of Arthur, the good and the ugly parts. And knowing that he will only ever have a small part of his heart is too little to settle for, too little to risk everything for.

Merlin can’t tell if Arthur himself notices how he leans in closer, the tips of their noses touching, their breaths mingling in the small space between them. They both close their eyes. Merlin can feel Arthur’s lips ghost over his, giving him the chance to pull back, to refuse hurting himself even more.

He doesn’t pull back, but he can’t return the kiss. Not when he knows Arthur’s heart isn’t really in it. At least not all of it. His lips remain still until Arthur pulls away, sensing Merlin’s reluctance.

“So that’s how it is…”

Arthur withdraws and releases Merlin’s hands, a hurt and tired look on his face. Merlin wants to pull him in again and kiss that devastating look off his face, to assure him that he will always love his king.

But he can’t bring himself to do so. Because he knows that once he does, he’ll never be able to let go. If he lets himself start, he’ll never stop kissing – loving – Arthur.

Arthur stands to head back towards the dining hall, leaving Merlin sitting on the floor. He stops after a few steps, speaking over his shoulder.

“I never wanted it to come to this.”

Merlin looks up, resisting the urge to stand up and wipe away Arthur’s tears; to envelope himself in a comforting embrace he knows Arthur wouldn’t deny him.

“Maybe if things were different…” Arthur says wistfully, before turning and disappearing around the corner, his fiery red cape trailing behind him and soon disappearing from sight.

And oh, how Merlin wishes things were different. He’s torn between wishing he could have all of Arthur, and that he had never arrived in Camelot in the first place. He’s not sure he would’ve come had he known he would find so much heartache.

But perhaps Merlin’s biggest regret, is not kissing Arthur every time he got the chance, and not returning their most recent kiss; not allowing himself the joy of holding his king close to him every waking moment. He should’ve let himself have that.

And now he has nothing but tear-streaked cheeks and the tingling sensation of Arthur’s lips against his, which he knows will eventually fade to nothing but a distant dream of what had and could have been.  

 

 

 


End file.
